ranting

It's a Friday's night, and I'm leaving for home. It rained and thundered a while back, but when I got to my car the wet weather was at it's last laps, dwindling down to mere occasional droplets on the windscreen.

I love how everything is after the rain. The lights are clearer, the buildings sharper, and the air feels just about right. Driving home, soothes the soul somewhat. There's a calmness to it, there's a weird warmth of heading home, the one place where the externalities of life are exactly that, mere externalities, easily discarded in the place where one releases their internal energies.

Lately my journey home has been accompanied by slow music. I've never asked myself why, but I think it needs no explanation. Music, like art, is something you just identify it at a subconscious, subliminal level. Slow music set against the night lights and tall buildings, over time, evokes a kind of sadness, or more appropriately, a kind of aged, jaded bitterness about life, like someone who's lost everything, and has come to terms with the fact.